


Eternity

by wilbell



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilbell/pseuds/wilbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade trying to do something special doesn't always proceed as smoothly as intended, but the outcome can make up for the many bumps hit along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> First work uploaded on this site, as well as my first fic written for this particular pair.

3:00 a.m.

Those three digits gleamed back at Peter from the stove’s fluorescent green clock almost tauntingly. They flashed on and off until a minute went by, leaving the room in a low, steady green glow. The little illumination the clock offered only sufficed to make the room’s sole occupant tired. 

It was infuriating. He wouldn't even be in the kitchen at this hour if it weren't for _him._

_Wade._

Peter wanted to claw his eyes out. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been sitting at his kitchen counter, glaring at the digital clock across from him as the time ticked by without a sound. He should be resting. He should be snuggled up to Wade in bed. 

He should be used to this. 

How many days he spent sitting in his kitchen every night, staring aimlessly at each time presented to him by that stupid little clock was too much of a mystery math problem for Peter to bother working out. His stomach tended to groan in hunger, because he saw no real point in eating dinner before bed if there was no scheduled time for bed; his head ached painfully at random intervals, because there was so much for him to worry about and not nearly enough space in his mind for him to cope with it all. Purple bags hung under his bloodshot eyes, and sometimes his limbs felt sore and stiff from sitting in a chair all night long. He still wasn't sure why he bothered staying up, waiting. There was no real reason for him to. Except, there was. 

Peter was worried. Worried beyond belief. He wasn't worried for Wade, on his Deadpool missions, or duties, or whatever they were called, nor was he worried for his own personal safety without Wade, because he was _Spider-Man_ and he had no reason to fret over Wade not being there with him at night. What really stressed him out was them. He was worried for their relationship. 

And he was scared. 

Scared that everything was breaking apart, that Wade was going to leave one day and never come back, and there wouldn't even be so much as a call to say “hey, it’s over.” Peter was half-expecting that outcome. Wade, for the past few weeks - or, hell, couple _months_ \- had been less than affectionate, to say the least.

Old Wade, his Wade, the Wade he fell in love with that would do anything for him, wasn't there. Hadn't been there for awhile. And, as the days went by with Wade gone longer each time, Peter had grown anxious. It was never like Wade to try and take on missions every single day, especially ones that would keep him out of the apartment for days on end, only returning in the middle of some unexpected night, then leaving again the next day before Peter could even get a hug out of him. 

Wade _liked_ spending time with Peter, or that was what Peter had originally thought, before the long and frequent trips away from home became something of a religion to Wade. The worst of it all was that Wade, on his rare days he spent at home in Peter’s company, stayed aloof and distant, not attempting to make any means of physical contact that wasn't necessary. He hardly even _talked_ to Peter. When Peter realized that little tidbit, he had wanted to break down on the sofa, right across from Wade, whom he couldn't even turn to for comfort. Wade never liked it when he cried, and Wade was the one who always made things better, but with Wade being the cause of his sadness, Peter wasn't left with many choices other than to pretend everything was fine. 

Was it so bad that Peter wanted to cuddle up close to Wade again, just to reminisce in the closeness they had always showed each other back when their relationship wasn't as fragile as glass? Where was the love they constantly smothered one another with before Wade decided to take it upon himself and leave Peter alone nearly every night? Peter wanted the answers to these questions so badly that it hurt. It hurt him from the very tips of his fingers to the throbbing mess that was his chest. 

He held his head in his hands and sighed, gently rubbing at his temples with his thumbs. The comfort he craved - _needed_ \- wasn't going to come. Not anytime soon. Not from Wade. 

Peter wondered, countless times, why Wade took avoiding him so seriously. He ignored him and worked so much, but all he really had to do was tell Peter that he didn't want to be around him anymore. Peter was sure he could take that. Heck, he would prefer that - it would result in a whole lot less heartbreak than the current way. Wade, being so distant and different, managed to hurt Peter a whole lot more than a truthful confession would. There was only so much more hurt he could take, and Peter knew he was already exceeding the limit. 

If Wade wasn't going to confront him about it, then Peter was self-determined enough to break things off himself, before everything took a turn for the worse, which Peter was sure he wouldn't be able to handle. For weeks and weeks he had suffered through Wade’s torture of avoidance - he knew even another week of this behavior would be enough for him. 

Feeling his head clear up, Peter moved his fingers down to his cheeks, wiping off the fresh tears that clung to his face. He couldn't recall when the liquid had started falling from his eyes, but the tears weren't an unusual occurrence, as they made their way down his face in steady streaks each night, blurring his view of the green light. The light that, every night, signified how little Wade cared about spending time with him. 

Peter had the audacity to believe it showed how much Wade hated him.

It would actually be a miracle if Wade didn't hate him by this point. Peter sometimes tried for conversation, saying little mundane things that they could have had long discussions about in the past. Now, though, Wade would answer quickly, ignoring his part of the conversation almost completely. The attempts at cuddling were even more embarrassing for Peter to think about. Any hugs or touches didn't seem to affect Wade at all, and he more often than not leaned _away_ from the touch, almost impulsively, like he wasn't even coherent while he did it. Now that Peter thought about it he realized that Wade probably didn't even know he was turning away from Peter’s touches. By this point it must be so natural that Wade did it as mindlessly as he breathed. Hand holding was a different story - there was no outright rejection, but holding an idle hand was just as worse. Peter wished he could see what was going on in Wade’s mind. 

It hurt so much, not being touched, or spoken to, or fully acknowledged. 

Or kissed. 

Now Peter felt fresher tears stream down his face and he made no move to wipe them away. A sob caught in the back of his throat. He crossed his arms and winced as his fingernails found purchase in the soft, pale skin under his arms. The squeezing made the skin of his underarms feel as if it were about to rip right off into his fingertips. He pulled and scratched and cried for all he was worth. 

Peter stopped when blood trickled over his hands. 

The tears were small, no more than what a cat’s claw would do to him, but the new marks were torn into old ones, some breaking open, not fully healed from the previous night, or the nights before. This skin tearing was becoming something of a habit. Rubbing his tears away once more, Peter chanced a look at the clock. 

4:00 a.m. 

Another entire hour had gone by. Peter wasn't surprised. Time went faster when Wade was out who knows where, doing who knows what, with who knows _who._

Wade cheating on him? It wasn't hard to imagine, so Peter stopped imagining it. That hurt a little too much. 

Getting up from the counter, Peter left the kitchen and the clock for the bathroom. This was routine, and so, when Peter flipped on the light switch, the dried blood marks from last night didn't startle him. He only sighed, mentally scolding himself for not cleaning up properly because he couldn't risk Wade coming home one night and seeing _that._ The blood might make Wade upset, or something, Peter really wasn't too sure. 

Taking out the first aid kit, Peter pulled out the antiseptic cream, carefully slathering it over his semi-dry wounds. Some blood was still seeping through, though, and Peter didn't want Wade seeing the marks, so he opened a few Band-Aids to stem the bleeding and hide the scratches. 

Peter looked at the mirror and found a horribly sleep deprived version of himself staring back at him. The purple shadows beneath his eyes were worse than before, and his skin was looking pretty pale. This new mission of Wade’s was a longer one, definitely. He had been gone for five days. Five entire days. 

There had been no messages or phone calls - nothing for Peter to go off of. He had stayed up each night until sunlight dusted the horizon, and it was taking its tool on Peter. With the previous missions, Peter would usually go to sleep around two, not expecting to see any red-and-black wearing figures in his apartment that night, but desperation was getting harder and harder for Peter to shake. He could barely get to sleep even when he tried. 

Peter finished up in the bathroom before finally deciding he had done enough waiting for the night. If Wade wasn't back by now, then Peter doubted he’d show up before the night ended. 

Their bed - or should he say, _his_ bed - was cold when Peter climbed into it. For the past couple nights without Wade, Peter had been sleeping on the couch. Something about the bed made his insides churn. All the nights he and Wade had spent on the bed, all the love they shared while curled around each other underneath the blanket . . . It was like none of that even happened. 

Wade had been favoring the couch, lately, and it wasn't like Peter to tell him how much it hurt to have Wade in another room when they could be wrapped in each other’s warmth.

What he’d give to have Wade beside him tonight. 

It was freezing outside, and the winter air seeped in through the window with the blanket covering Peter doing little to stop it. 

He never had problems with the cold when Wade was here. 

Peter wouldn't have to ask. Wade would wrap his arms around him and pull him close, his larger body practically engulfing him in warmth. Wade would whisper sweet little words in his ear and run his hands through Peter’s hair as they both fell asleep because Wade was nice like that and he cared so deeply for Peter and wanted to make him feel good whenever he had the chance. Peter always enjoyed hearing those words, feeling those touches. They were sweet nothings, but he loved them anyway. Wade was such a nice guy. Peter was lucky. No one had ever cared for him as much as Wade, and no had shown him love the way Wade did. Peter loved how Wade made sure he was comfortable and happy and content and loved. He loved how Wade made sure he was _loved._

But, most of all, Peter just loved Wade for being Wade. 

Peter couldn't stop the tears that fell in abundance that night, nor could he contain the sobs that caught in the back of his throat and made it burn.

. 

Wade had finally done it. After all that time spent away from Peter, after all of his forced seclusion, he had actually _done it._

One of those rare moments came where he was completely pleased with himself.

Wade stared down at the little velvet black box sitting in the palm of his hand, fascination evident even in the eyes of his mask. Time and time again he had felt like backing out, too afraid everything would fall apart by doing this, but, now that the object was physically in his hand, he couldn't feel a single ounce of regret in him. So much effort went into obtaining this little wonder - gaining the money by taking on long missions, missions that had separated him from Peter; spending nearly all of his days in his head, worrying over this and that and _but what if this goes wrong._ It was hard making a decision he didn't know the outcome to, but he was determined enough for Peter. After the time he spent away from Peter in order to purchase what he desired, there was nothing that Wade wanted more than to spend the rest of his life with the young hero.

He also, reluctantly, knew that he and Peter had grown somewhat distant during the past few weeks, and nothing hurt Wade like knowing that did, but Peter hadn't spoken out against him, so he safely assumed that everything would go back to normal right after he did this little, completely life changing task.

Though, hopefully, it would be a _different_ kind of normal.

Wade smiled to himself.

All would be right soon enough.

Pocketing the black box safely in his suit, Wade made his way down the snowy street of the city, heading back toward home, back toward Peter.

.

Peter didn't know what to do. Other than the one time he had left his apartment for his Spider-man duties, Peter hadn't done anything besides sulk in sweat pants and a stained white t-shirt throughout the course of the day, indulging in nothing but a couple spoonfuls of half-melted chocolate ice cream from the freezer. Remembering Wade had bought it, he promptly put it back, the taste too bitter on his tongue.

Calling Wade was the main topic Peter had been turning over in his head since morning. Wade always kept a cell phone on him, and, though he almost never answered it when Peter called, leaving a message would be considerably easier than speaking to the mercenary himself. 

It was time for a verbal breakup. 

The stress and anxiety and countless other issues couldn't keep on continuing, and Peter knew that, which was why he came to this . . . _abrupt_ decision. 

Peter laughed humorlessly to himself. There was nothing "abrupt" about any of this. It was a long time coming, and that was obvious. If Wade wasn't going to do the honors, then it was only natural that they should fall on Peter. Responsibly speaking, he had to cut things off with Wade. It was unhealthy to be in a relationship that lacked love, even if Peter still loved Wade. That love was, apparently, not returned, not anymore, and so whatever it was they had going on needed to stop.

The apartment door suddenly bursting open startled Peter, the TV remote dropping out of his hand and soundlessly hitting the sofa cushions. His fingers clenched around the arm of the couch as he looked up at the blatantly happy expression on Deadpool's mask. 

"Peter!" 

The boy almost had a heart attack. Had that actually been his _name_ that Wade just said? In a tone that was nowhere near resigned or distant? Peter couldn't believe his ears. 

He stayed immobile as Wade came toward him, those familiar arms encircling his frame once more. God, he felt like bursting into tears. 

"I missed you _so_ much and I'm sorry I was gone so long this time but I promise now we can spend a lot more time together because I don't plan on taking anymore missions for awhile now and-" Wade stopped, Peter noted, right as he realized there were tears he couldn't bare containing in front of Wade, whom he had seen so little love from for over a month, running down his face, blurring the figure in front of him and wetting Wade's costume. Moving his hands onto Wade himself, Peter clutched his fingers so hard into the red material that he could feel his nails bite into his skin on the other side. 

Peter kept his hold on the fabric of the Deadpool costume, unable to will himself to let go now that Wade was here, in the flesh, making voluntary physical contact with him that didn't warrant any sudden withdrawals. The reassurance he felt underneath his fingers made him gasp, a disbelieving wonder clearly heard in his tone. 

A minute passed in silence before Wade's concerned voice filled the room, "Peter . . . Peter, what's wrong? Did something happen? Peter, please be alright." A sob escaped Peter's throat when Wade finished speaking. He couldn't help it. _This_ had been what Peter craved for so long, and, now that he had Wade all over him again, he didn't know how to cope. It was all so sudden. 

Why was it so sudden?

His heart beat erratically against his chest and, breathing hard, Peter shoved Wade back, not a lot of force behind his push, but it was still enough to surprise Wade into moving backward a couple steps. Even through his mask Peter could see the curious look Wade was giving him; he lowered his arms to his sides and let his gaze fall to the ground almost shamefully. There was an awkward, tense silence between the two of them before either decided to speak. Wade was confused, Peter understood that. As for himself, Peter was at a loss for more beyond words.

With his brain in a stupor, Peter’s mouth moved on its own accord. 

“Are you fucking serious, Wade?” 

Wade’s stance went as rigid as cardboard, his shock nearly tangible. Inwardly, Peter felt bad for greeting the man like that, but it wasn't like Wade didn't deserve it. He was the cause of all his troubles as of late, and now Peter was finally going to say something about it. 

“You've been avoiding me for two months, Wade! You haven’t made any attempts at talking or touching me for weeks and do you know how much that hurt?” Peter felt the desire to scream out his words, but he held back, determined to keep some of his dignity in front of Wade. “It was like I was some kind of walking disease that you couldn't bear to be around! You spent more time out of the house, away being 'Deadpool,' than with _me._ And, now, you’re suddenly your old self again? What the hell are you trying to get at?” He was standing up now and, though he was significantly shorter than Wade, he saw the other growing sheepish under his gaze. 

“If you wanted to make me angry, congratulations, because you've certainly done it,” he said, quieting down. “I’m sure breaking up with me could've saved us both some time.” 

Peter had been expecting this day and believed he had prepared himself enough for it, but, when he looked up and saw Wade take off his mask and look down at him with the most regretful eyes he’d ever seen, he wasn't too sure how to respond. It was remorseful, the way Wade was watching him, lips drawn tight against his face. There was no empty stare, no accepting nod followed shortly by a door slam - nothing was playing out the way Peter had been so sure it would.

Had he been wrong? 

“Peter,” Wade spoke his name again, softly, like Peter was a scared animal that might either run away or lash out in fury, “I never realized. I’m so sorry.” 

The backs of Peter's knees hit the sofa as he stumbled backward, those words too heavy in his mind, too wrong. 

Wade came closer and made to grip his arm; Peter didn't resist, shock still coursing through his body. 

“Please, Peter, I . . .” For once, Wade seemed to be genuinely at a loss for words. His brow furrowed and he swallowed, the nervousness practically radiating off of him in physical waves. “This isn't how I wanted it to go, Peter. I didn't mean to hurt you. That wasn't my intention at all!” The force behind Wade’s words left Peter feeling lightheaded.

He didn't understand. 

“What do you mean?”

Wade looked troubled, as if something was - had been - nagging him in the back of his head. It was that look Wade made a habit of putting up around Peter so often, the look that made them become whatever it was they were now. Peter would've liked to punch that look right off of Wade's face. 

"Well?" he said, bitterly, the irritation in that single word clearer than a cloudless sky. It was hitting Wade as forcefully as a sunbeam. 

Peter skeptically watched as the older man dug around inside his costume, his anxious movements coming to a halt when he brandished a small black box in front of Peter, the spot where his eyebrow would normally be critically raising up. "This," Wade spoke, indicating the box in his hand, "is why I've spent so much time away from you, because I had to find some way to get the money, and I guess all that thinking really took my mind off of being focused on you, which I never meant to do. I swear I'd never deliberately hurt you, Peter." Wade smiled, and it was all so heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time that Peter couldn't hold back a little upturn of his own lips. "I love you."

It was stunning, really. There was nothing on earth or heaven or any other plane of existence that could compare to watching Wade lower himself down on one knee, the hand holding that surprising little box still extended toward Peter. As soon as Wade got down on his knee, Peter knew. He realized why everything had been so strange, so foreign, in their relationship for those past weeks, and he honestly couldn't believe it.

The ring was beautiful. 

A pure gold band flecked with small diamond shards, nothing too flamboyant, but it certainly looked like it costed more than what Wade could have ever gotten had he not worked those long jobs. The diamonds reflected the dim lighting of the apartment and sparkled in Peter's eyes, which he had a feeling were filling up with tears yet again. Wade tugged on Peter's arm, signifying that he should come down to be level with him. Curious, Peter obliged. 

The ring was tilted in Peter's favor and, when the light hit the inside of the ring, Peter ran his finger over the inscription. 

_Aeternitas._

"It means 'eternity,'" Wade explained, slipping the smooth ring over Peter's finger. He smiled, looking back up into Peter's eyes, "And it's what I want, for _us._ "

The cool band felt nice against Peter's skin, but Wade's arms around him felt even nicer. He squeezed his hand into Wade's costume and sighed, overcome with emotions he wasn't sure how to cope with. Wade must have took that sigh as a distressing sign - Peter felt Wade tense. The thoughts running rampant throughout Wade's mind must have been catastrophic. Now it was Peter's turn to put Wade at ease. 

"I'd like that," 

The brush of lips against his was instantaneous. There was so much love, like an entire ocean had just crashed over Peter, flooding him with missing feelings and touches that he couldn't bear to be without. This time, when the tears came, they weren't anything Peter was ashamed of, because he was all too happy to know why they came in the first place. Peter practically heard the bells ringing inside him, jubilation in its finest form. 

Wade ran his thumbs over Peter's cheeks, clearing away the wetness with soft strokes. His own delight was evident in the way he kissed Peter, the press of his scarred lips over unmarked ones both as gentle and as desperate as ever. Everything they worked so hard to achieve could have been lost, but, now, they had everything _and then some._

"Wade?" Peter finally broke the kiss and Wade pulled Peter closer, holding him to his chest and making a low "hmm" sound. Peter took that as an urge to go on, "Promise me something, though?" 

"Anything for my baby boy," Wade mumbled into his neck, and Peter had to laugh. It'd been forever since Wade had called him that dorky nickname. 

"I love you so much for doing something so special for me, but," Peter drew back to look Wade in the eye, needing to make sure Wade heard him loud and clear, "please never seclude yourself like that again. It really did hurt, and I was under all the wrong impressions that I-" Wade shushed him with a finger over his lips. 

"I won't. I promise you that. I was scared and nervous and I didn't know how to go about doing much of anything, but I know that I could have done things differently." Wade admitted, expression dropping slightly before perking back up again. "Now, though, I'll have all the time in the world to spend with you. I'll have eternity." 

Wade sounded so cliché. Peter loved it. 

Kissing him once more, Peter got off the floor, pulling Wade up alongside him. He gazed at the ring shining so gorgeously on his finger before locking eyes with Wade. 

"We're getting married," he stated, fascination lacing his tone. 

"We're getting married," Wade agreed, taking Peter's hand in his and knowing, without a moment's hesitation, that what they had was definitely eternal.


End file.
